Confession time: I fell in love with The Summer Springsteen’s Songs Saved Me by Barbara Quinn when it first came out two years ago.
You can read my thoughts on this stunning tale of love and loss, loyalty and new beginnings and affirmation that there’s more to America and Americans than President Trump here.
In the meantime, as part of a birthday blog tour bash, you’ll find an extract below to whet your appetite for more…
First though a little about the book:
Coming home to catch her husband with his face between the long, silky legs of another woman is the last thing Sofia expects—and on today of all days.
So, after scratching an expletive into his Porsche and setting the cheating bastard’s clothes on fire, she cranks up her beloved Bruce and flees, vowing never to look back. Seeking solace in the peaceful beachside town of Bradley Beach, NJ, Sof is determined to start over.
And, with the help of best friends, new acquaintances, a sexy neighbor, and the powerful songs of Springsteen, this may be the place where her wounds can heal. But, as if she hasn’t faced her share of life’s challenges, a final flurry of obstacles awaits. In order to head courageously toward the future, Sofia must first let go of her past, find freedom, and mend her broken soul.
Jerome raps on the door. “Sofia, Sofia.”
He calls louder. “Sofia, open up. I want to talk to you.”
Rap, rap, rap.
He rattles the knob and bangs harder.
I spy my cell on the floor and collect it. If I hadn’t forgotten my phone I never would’ve returned home. My schedule usually goes off like clockwork. Nyack Meals on Wheels by eight o’clock followed by the office an hour and a half later.
My hands tremble, and I clutch the side of the desk. “Do you do this often? Do you have it planned to the minute I go out?” My question comes out eerily calm.
An urge to leave becomes unbearable. I seize my purse and two plastic Wal-Mart sacks intended for donations to Goodwill. Shaking out the bags I fill them methodically with a few of the clothes I store in the spare closet, the ones that don’t fit in the overstuffed master bedroom closet, the master bedroom closet opposite the mahogany king I shared with Jerome for the past twenty-six years, the bed where Jerome and Mandy were doing the nasty. The edges around my eyes flood with black ink. I stuff Jerome’s and Mandy’s things into another bag and blink hard.
Jerome bangs so hard the hinges shake. I force myself to finish packing, unlock the door, and push past still-naked Jerome. At the sight of his pasty body, my stomach lurches and sends sour liquid into my throat. My eyes burn.
“Do you know what day today is?” I will my tears not to flow. Why give him that satisfaction?
About the author:
Barbara Quinn is an award-winning short story writer and author of a variety of novels.
Her travels have taken her to forty-seven states and five continents where she’s encountered fascinating settings and inspiring people that populate her work.
Her many past jobs include lawyer, record shop owner, reporter, process server, lingerie sales clerk, waitress, and postal worker.
A native New Yorker with roots in the Bronx, Long Island, and Westchester, she currently resides with her husband in Bradley Beach, NJ and Holmes Beach, FL.
Barbara enjoys spending time with her son and his family and planning her next adventure. She wants to remind everyone that when you meet her, SHE’S NOT SHOUTING, SHE’S ITALIAN.